


Trinkets

by unklarity



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unklarity/pseuds/unklarity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles for Dragon Age: Origins and DA2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tower: Bethany/Isabela

**Author's Note:**

> Tower: Bethany/Isabela

She sits in the circle tower, staring wistfully out of one of the highest windows, looking out over the gallows and that’s when Bethany sees her. On the edge of one of the ships, looking out into the harbor, proud and tall and beautiful and so far away. Isabela is a sight for sore eyes, she thinks. When the pirate looks up and they almost catch each other’s eye, Bethany inhales sharply and forces herself to look away. Isabela couldn’t have seen her from all the way down there, it’s too far, she’s imagining things. She’s dreaming, like those nights she dreams she’s back in Lowtown and Hawke is away and Isabela comes and whisks her away and presses her up against cold stone in alleyways and makes her see all the stars in the night sky at once. Bethany misses her, misses the pirate’s constant flirting and innuendos and her touch and her mouth and she has to shut the window for a moment, if only to hide her face from a world she is not welcome in. The young mage picks up one of the books Isabela had brought her and touches the spine with delicate fingers. She’d received a letter from her sister yesterday saying she’d been asked to join the champion for a journey to Chateau Haine, and the First Enchanter had approved the request. She’s be seeing her sister for the first time in almost a year. And she’d be seeing Isabela. Bethany shuts her eyes. She regrets shutting the window. She wishes the pirate had seen her. Now that her sister is the Champion and she has influence over the Circle, she has a chance to see the Rivaini again. A gentle shiver travels up her spine and across her shoulders, and Bethany smiles. It has been a long time.


	2. Birthday: Fenris & Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris And Anders try to buy Hawke a birthday gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from thekidsalright :)

They’ve been wandering the shops of Hightown for hours now, shops that neither of them can afford, but the mage refuses to give up until they’ve found Hawke the perfect present. Fenris’ initial idea of giving her a bottle from Danarius’ old wine cellar is quickly squashed; this is probably for the better anyhow, seeing as those bottles are the only thing he really possesses at this point. Eventually they find themselves in Lowtown out of sheer desperation, and Anders calls out to him, directing his attention to a hat shop. “Didn’t she mention this place a couple of times?” he inquires, but frowns when Fenris rolls his eyes and says, “I believe that was Isabela.”

They are out of ideas.

“You know,” Anders begins, “we could just give her an IOU.” The elf scoffs. “I think you know as well as I do, mage, that a gift such as that could be vastly misused.” The blond scoffs at his remark. “True,” he sighs, stepping closer to Fenris, almost closing the space between them. He picks up a wide-brimmed red hat adorned with a feather and places it on Fenris’ head; Fenris stands still, his blood running cold, and tries to form a rebuke but his mouth seems to be glued firmly shut. They are surrounded by fluffy hats and colorful caps, and neither one of them is visible to the crowd of Lowtown. When he’s fairly certain his face is the very same color as the hat, Anders leans just a little bit closer, whispering in his ear, “but I think you know as well as I do that neither one of us would really mind.” 

Fenris shows up reluctantly to Hawke’s mansion the next day after emptying out his cellars of wine, rosy-faced and unsure if appearing at all was most unwise. He half expects Anders to hand the woman an envelope, but instead the woman appears confused when she receives what that mage calls a “rather stunning” red hat.


	3. No One: Isabela/Female Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh come on, sweet thing. Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

Isabela looks up at the other woman from her place at the bar, balanced on the side of a wooden crate and drinking sloppily from a cheap bottle of Antivan wine. 

She says nothing.

“Oh come on, sweet thing. Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

She only receives an eye roll in response. Isabela frowns, beckons for Hawke to sit down beside her. Hawke, however, does not move. She stands, frozen on the spot, eyes on Isabela’s now half-empty wine bottle. 

“Oh come on, loosen up.” Isabela twists her body, moves to lay a gloved hand on the other woman’s shoulder, but at the last moment retracts it. She curls her fingers possessively around the bottle instead. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Hawke’s eyes flicker to Isabela’s face, and then to the door. She looks uncomfortable, and Isabela can’t help but feel guilty. This is all her fault. It’s because of her that Hawke is like this. Too quiet. “Look, I know you’re mad. But at least I came back, didn’t I?” Which is obviously the wrong thing to say. The other woman lowers her head without speaking, and Isabela can’t stand it; the awkward silence, the tension between them, the pain in the other woman’s expression. She cradles her head in her empty hands, and wait for a response that never comes.

“I came back for you. Isn’t that enough? It’s always been about you, Hawke. Is that what you want to hear?” She receives no answer. Sighing heavily, she looks up from the table to where Hawke had been standing. No one is there.

Was anyone ever there at all?

She starts when Norah taps her gently on the shoulder, a curious look on her face. “Who are you talking to, serah?”

Isabela laughs, bitter and lonely.

“No one at all.”


	4. Birdie: Isabela/f!Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Show yourself, and I might let you live.” f!Hawke/Isabela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Isabela follows Hawke down an alleyway.

Hawke had only stepped in the Blooming Rose to drag her brother out of it. It was disappointing, really, Isabela mused, to think that the woman was really so boring. Obsessed with funding that stupid Deep Roads expedition and seemingly opposed to any fun at all. After their first meeting Isabela had suggested they have a little fun back at the hanged man, and Hawke's suave refusal had done nothing but disconcert her. She'd tried telling herself that maybe she just wasn't the mage's type- but that thought had quickly been squashed by the flirtations that had followed. The way Hawke’s eyes followed Isabela when she left a room. If the other woman was trying to play coy, it wasn’t working, and Isabela was determined to find out what she was up to. She pressed her back firmly up against the wall of one of the more lavish Hightown estates as her target passed by, veiling herself in shadows to avoid detection. Hawke strolled past the Chantry and towards the Merchant’s district, no particular urgency in her gait; Isabela followed behind her, watching from a distance and she trounced through Kirkwall like she owned the place.  
She slipped through the gates and out of Hightown, and Isabela rolled her eyes, thinking the apostate was merely returning to her uncle’s house for the night. What a killjoy. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she noticed Hawke turn in the opposite direction and away from the old city slums. She looked around cautiously and made her way down one of the winding alleyways, taking out her staff and holding it close for protection.  
Now Isabela was intrigued. She stayed still for a moment before retracing Hawke’s footsteps, trailing her down the dark edges of the alley, stopping every time the mage would glance back. Isabela began to think maybe she’d overestimated the woman if she couldn’t figure out she was being followed. That is, until, she realized that Hawke had led them to a dead end. She froze, remaining in shadow, waiting.  
“You know, I think you picked the wrong person to follow. Show yourself, and I might let you live.” Hawke moved into an offensive stance, and Isabela could nearly feel the magic rolling off of her. She’d been led into a trap. Very clever, Hawke, she thought, but not clever enough.  
She sheathed her daggers and stepped out into the moonlight, slowly revealing herself to the apostate. “Well well, Birdie, we’re out a bit late, aren’t we? Honestly, I thought you were just going to head back to old Uncle Gam-Gam’s, but it seems like you do have a little bit of spunk in you.” She smiled, leaning on a conveniently-placed crate, watching Hawke watch her. The mage’s back was up against the wall of the alley, and Isabela stood in front of the only exit. Hawke had tried leading her pursuer into a trap but she’d fallen into one instead. “Isabela!” the woman barked, irritation evident on her face. “Andraste’s tits, I thought someone was trying to murder me! Don’t you have anything better to do?” She sent a little spark of magic at Isabela, just because she could, and the pirate flinched at the contact. “Aww, but aren’t you happy it’s me instead of some nasty old thug? At least I’m nicer to look at.”  
Hawke frowned. “Maybe I’d prefer the thug.” But Isabela saw through her bluff; she stepped closer, too close, close enough for Hawke to get uncomfortable - and grabbed the woman’s hand, prying the staff out of her grip and letting it fall to the ground. “Now now, Birdie...we mustn’t tell lies.”


	5. Meetings: Merril & Isabela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See, kitten? I would never steer you wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Merrill and Isabela, the hat shop in Lowtown. A continuation of "Birthday."

“Kitten, it’s this way. Hurry up or you’ll get lost again.” 

Merrill whines softly under her breath. They’ve been wandering around Lowtown, weaving through smelly alleyways and passing by men who give Isabela the most frightful looks, and still no sign of the place. Isabela swears it’s around here, but it’s been over an hour and they’re starting to descend into the darker parts of the district. She just wants to back to her alienage and her tree and her muggings and her mirror and not have to deal with Isabela’s quest to find a shop that doesn’t seem to exist. “Isabela? Perhaps we should just...go home? I could make some tea? I haven’t seen any hat shops.” The pirate clucks her tongue, turning around and placing an arm over Merrill’s shoulders. “Just have faith in me, kitten. It’s right around the corner, I just know it. We’ll look at some awful hats and then we’ll go back to your house and you can make us some tea, alright?” 

The girl smiles. “Alright, Isabela.” Isabela takes her hand gently and leads her down a murky little side street, surprisingly bustling with people, and points out the quaint little shop in front of them. Pointing her finger towards the establishment in triumph, she smirks. “See, kitten? I would never steer you wrong.” Merrill sighs, and lets Isabela steer her toward the multitude of headwear. The pirate’s face lights up in a smile, picking up a fur-lined pink monstrosity and placing it on Merrill’s head. “Stunning,” she says decidedly, spinning the elf around to look in the mirror. Merrill inspects her reflection, pursing her lips in confusion. She is about to remove the hat when she hears a low whisper behind her, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Anders, bent over and whispering into Fenris’ ear. The elf’s face is the color of the horrid red hat he’s sporting, and Merrill’s first instinct is to inch away before either of them notice her presence. Isabela, however, has followed her gaze across the shop and apparently has other ideas. “If it isn’t my favorite grumpy apostate and dashing elf-man,” she drawls, striding toward them and placing a hand on Anders’ shoulder playfully. “Having a romantic Lowtown getaway? I’ve heard this is where all the newlyweds go.” Merrill winces and Fenris pulls violently away from Anders and storms out of the shop’s makeshift door, flinging the hat to the ground as he goes. “Touchy,” Isabela whispers, watching Anders panic and chase after him, before turning back to Merrill and giving her a big smile. “So, Kitten, you ready to make that tea? I think we could all use some.”


	6. Carmine (Marian/Fenris)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s just go home.”

There is so much blood, more than she saw in Ostagar; more, she thinks, than the whole of Kirkwall possesses. Fenris is covered in it, as is the crumpled body of his former master. Hawke cannot look away from the carnage in front of her, despite Isabela’s attempt to turn her head away. Just leave him, the pirate says. He needs to be alone.

Hawke steps forward anyway, closer to him, and slowly reaches a hand out to him. Fenris does not flinch, does not turn around; his head remains down, his eyes glued to the floor and his hands balled into bloody fists. His hair is covered in a dirty reddish-brown sheen, the blood is drying on his armor, and he looks like a wild thing. Ethereal, glowing, dangerous. Free.

He looks up at her, a thousand years and words and hurts held back in his eyes, and Hawke’s heart breaks for him. She has already lost Bethany and Carver and Mother - she will not lose him too. She reaches a hand up and gently pushes the stained and matted hair from his eyes. “Fenris.” He turns his eyes away. His body follows. He makes to leave, but she stops him with a look.

“Please.” She comes closer to him again. “Let’s just go home.” He glances at her, shame still lingering on his face, and tilts his head. They do not live together, so he is not sure what she means.

He does not correct her though, but takes her hand and lets her lead him out.


	7. Game (Vivienne/Cassandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what is it that interests you, seeker?”

“Are you ready yet?” Cassandra’s voice is muffled, and Vivienne can barely hear it through the door. She does not answer right away, instead taking her time, adjusting her collar and flaring out her skirt behind her. It’s been to long since she’s attended a ball. “Seeker,” she chastises as she opens the door slowly, “elegance cannot be rushed.”  
Cassandra mumbles under her breath, shifting uncomfortably in her formal armor. She isn’t so convinced that this ball is a good idea, what with the combined penchant for flair of the inquisitor and enchanter. It spells trouble, and Cassandra only wishes to blend into the shadows and apprehend their target; she has a feeling that Vivienne does not know the meaning of “blending in.”  
The mage turns her head, giving Cassandra a cold look of appraisal. “I must say, seeker. I am surprised. You look…radiant. I’m glad to see you took my advice to heart.”  
Dress to impress. Except Cassandra doesn’t give a damn about impressing any of the guests at the ball. She blushes deeply at Vivienne’s comment, choosing to inspect her gauntlets, which have suddenly become so fascinating. The mage laughs, a low, velvety sound, and lifts her chin with the side of a gloved hand.  
“You have impressed me,” Vivienne continues after a long pause. “I’m sure all the girls will be making eyes at you.” She smiles, moving closer until their faces are barely an inch apart. Cassandra tries to focus on the way her armor pinches her at the wrist. “I’m not interested in little noble girls,” she mumbles, inhaling sharply as Vivienne’s other hand finds her waist. They’re going to be late at this point, although perhaps that is Vivienne’s intention; she had said something about being ‘fashionably late.’ Cassandra finds herself forgetting her previous argument entirely, letting the mage press their bodies together tightly, all the while careful not to disturb her robes or Cassandra’s armor. Always mindful of fashion, that one.  
“And what is it that interests you, seeker?” Vivienne whispers in her ear, nipping at her jaw before moving back to her lips, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. “Or are you only concerned with your crusade?” The hand at Cassandra’s chin moves to cradle her head gently, and Vivienne guides her forward, pinning her against the rough wood of the door. Cassandra reacts instantly, grabbing both sides of her face and pressing their lips together forcefully. She runs her tongue along Vivienne’s bottom lip, pausing for a moment. “You know what interests me,” she retorts with an irritated look. “And you know that I do not like games.”  
“But my dear seeker,” Vivienne exhales, a devilish smirk on her lips, covering Cassandra’s hands with her own and dragging them down, “you play them so well.”


	8. Snooze (Female Adaar/Sera)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sera plays lookout.

It's been three days since they saw another traveler; now only rocks and grass and the occasional nug are the backdrop to their journey. Cassandra is ahead of them by a few paces, and Vivienne trails slightly behind. The Inquisitor has Sera up on her shoulders, one arm resting on her horns and the other shielding her eyes from the glaring sun. “What do you see, little one?”

“Um…clouds. Trees? What am I looking for?” The qunari lets out a short bark of laughter, pointing to the skyline. “We are moving west. You should see the keep soon by those mountains over there.”

“Well you’re not nearly as tall as Iron Bull,” the elf giggles, wrapping her legs tighter round the Inquisitor’s neck, “but I suppose you’ll do.” She bends over slightly, pressing her cheek against untamed white hair, twisting the strands between her fingers.

“You wound me,” she feels the vibration of the qunari’s voice almost before she hears it, and Sera taps her hand against Herah’s collarbone, a pout on her lips. Almost immediately, a larger hand covers her own.

“It won’t be long now, if you would like to relax. I am sure Cassandra can handle reconnaissance on her own.”

A small sigh escapes her, and she moves slightly, making herself comfortable. Before she can think of a response, she finds her eyelids getting heavy, and tries to blink away the fatigue.

“Sera?” The Inquisitor calls her, but all she gets in response is a soft snoring noise.

Well alright then.


End file.
